Prisoner of the Page
by Deathly Noted
Summary: Mihael Keehl. December 31, 2009 3:34 AM. Destroys everything important to him, then kills himself.


**Mihael Keehl**

**December 31, 2009 3:34 AM**

**Destroys everything important to him, then kills himself**

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><p>One moment Mello was laughing at something Matt had said, either that or laughing just because there was a mostly empty bottle of hard liquor being passed between the two of them, back and forth, back and forth banter over the scratched up surface of the coffee table as per usual – then the next moment Mello wasn't laughing anymore, was confused as to why he had been smiling in the first place when all he wanted was to die.<p>

"So then I was like, shit no, I wouldn't fuck someone as ugly as you…" Matt was saying, but trailed off as he seemed to notice that Mello had fallen unusually silent and still. "What?"

Without responding, Mello began to collect the papers that littered the table into a more solidified pile, stood up, and dumped them into a rubbish bin.

"Mello, you're drunker than I thought, stop. We spent all night putting those together, didn't we? Don't be such a perfectionist, the plan we came up with, I think it's fine," Matt said, sounding half-amused, half-exasperated, but Mello paid no attention because he had much more pressing matters to attend to like finding a pack of matches – ah, there they were, Matt left them on the side table with his keys like always. Mello took one out of the box, struck it, and threw it into the bin. The papers caught quickly, curling blackly around words like NHN News and Kiyomi Takada and Kira until they were no longer discernible, just a blur reflected on the surface of glazed eyes. There was a twinge of something inside Mello – remorse, pain? – as he watched all of his work burn, but he dismissed it because after all he had to do this, reasons be damned. Completely calm now, Mello relaxed his clenched fist so that he could grab onto his rosary, and he ripped it from his neck in a rain of beads that scattered to all corners of their apartment and fell through cracks in the decaying wooden floor, never to be retrieved.

"What the fuck man," Matt said, standing up now. "That was your mother's, wasn't it?"

Still Mello did not answer, only throwing more papers into the fire he had started in the wastebasket and then, upon realizing that he had run out of newspaper clippings and other artifacts of his and Matt's surveillance of Misa Amane and other research relating to Kira, Mello extracted Matt's primary hard drive from his laptop, smashing it under the heel of his boot even as Matt grabbed onto his arm and tried to calm him down, saying stuff about how Near wasn't worth getting this upset over, how Mello was good enough just as he was. Mello brushed him off and headed for the bedroom, but like always, Matt followed. There weren't many personal possessions in here, let alone things Mello cared about… there were no photos of course, no home videos, just a few changes of clothing and some chocolate bars… but there was the one thing, and Mello loved it, and because he loved it so much he wanted it gone.

Mello held the small, flat object in his hand for a moment, simply considering it. To most people it would've been trash, but not to Mello. He'd saved it, ever since the day he left Wammy's House and up until now. It was just a matchbox with no matches left and a number scrawled hastily onto the back, which Matt had passed off onto him with words of understanding – "call me when you're ready, I'll be waiting" – even as Mello had abandoned him. Matt had always been there for him like that, loyal and trusting almost to the point of stupidity. Even now Matt stood beside him, watching over him, and he must've realized by now what Mello held in his hands. Somewhere in his mind Mello wanted to say something to Matt, to ask him for help, but he couldn't. All he could do was take the object and rip it in half, and half, and half, until it was just a smattering of paper shreds on the stained floor, a disconnected string of numbers hovering there in space and time with no real meaning anymore.

"Mello," Matt said, now sounding genuinely horrified. "What are you… I mean, I thought we were having a good time tonight, right… what's gotten into you? Why would you…?"

Mello looked at Matt then, really looked at him. The redhead's expression was unusually emotional in that moment, his lips slightly agape, his brows furrowed and his wide blue-gray eyes entirely visible because he'd pushed his goggles up onto his forehead while they were drinking. He only did that around Mello. To the rest of the world, perhaps even to God himself, Matt must've been an unknown quantity, unreadable and impenetrable and icily uncaring except for Mello knew Matt like Matt knew Mello, and he was so… so precious, more than anything else.

All of a sudden Mello understood this and was able to acknowledge it, so he grabbed Matt in his arms and held him close to his chest, an action that had never been undertaken between them before in all the years they'd known one another, even existing in such close proximity that they were almost the same entity; an action that broke what few barriers remained between them as friends. Matt stood frozen in Mello's arms, confused perhaps and smelling of booze and smoke, then by gradual degrees he began to relax and patted Mello awkwardly on the back, as if to tell him to let go now. Neither of them had ever been very comfortable with physical contact, and besides, their relationship just wasn't like that. They were childhood friends, best friends, and pretty much brothers.

That's why Mello pushed Matt back onto the bed. Taken by surprise, it was easy enough to pin Matt's wrists down with one arm, unlatching Matt's belt and his own with the other and Mello was inside him before Matt even realized what was happening. Then he screamed, in a way Mello had never heard him do before. Matt didn't make sounds like that. He was calm, he was…

"Stop, stop, what the fuck do you think you're doing? No, stop!" Matt was writhing, trying to pry or kick Mello off, but Mello had always been much stronger, had always been the one to protect Matt when the other kids tried to pick on him and Matt was too lazy to get into a fist fight. "Stop…"

Matt, as usual, had given up, surrendering to Mello without much of a fight and simply laying there, looking off to the side rather blankly except when Mello made a particularly hard thrust and Matt would flinch by reflex. He looked a bit like he was going to be sick as he waited for Mello to finish, and Mello was right, as soon as he rolled off, Matt threw his head over the side of the bed and vomited onto the carpet. Then he just lay there, not looking at Mello directly, but not running away either. It was incredibly silent, and Mello knew that he had succeeded in his intentions, but for once he wasn't happy about coming out on top and taking what he wanted by whatever force necessary. He wasn't happy about it, in fact part of him was screaming at him the whole time not to, no, no, no, that was the last thing he ever wanted to do – but he'd just _had_ to, he couldn't rationalize or explain it, and now…

"…How… how could you do that to me?" Matt said finally, and his voice was gruff with vomit and too many years of too many cigarettes and something else. "After everything… everything we've been through, everything I've done for you… how could you…? I hate you, Mello, I fucking hate you."

Satisfied by this answer, and equally horrified in some recess of his mind that was growing dimmer by the minute, Mello smirked and pinned Matt down again, and Matt sighed raggedly and looked off to the side as if to brace himself for another round, seeming surprised again when Mello's hands coiled around his throat instead and wouldn't let go, not even as Matt tried to wrest him off, not even as Matt begged him to stop.

"Mello, why… are you doing this… I don't… understand," Matt gasped and spluttered, grappling for something, anything with the hand that wasn't still trying to remove Mello's vice-like grip on his throat. He located Mello's gun on the bedside table and held it to Mello's skull, but Mello hardly cared because he wanted to die anyway, and even more than that he wanted Matt dead, wanted this friendship buried alone and without a headstone. He wanted to destroy everything, everything important, and more than anything else, that meant…

Matt didn't pull the trigger, not because he didn't have the chance but because apparently he didn't want to. The gun dropped onto the bed beside Mello with a hollow sound, and Matt couldn't speak anymore, couldn't even gasp. His eyes rolled back, his eyes wide and lips wider, but no longer did he try to draw breath, and Mello let go, laying him gently into the bedspread because Matt was his one and only friend and Matt deserved to rest after everything Mello had put him through. A single tear broke free from the confines of Matt's lifeless eye and streaked down his cheek, not nearly enough for the both of them, but that would have to suffice, Mello decided, and he was glad, so glad to feel cold, unforgiving steel as he shoved the gun into his own mouth and pulled the trigger.

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><p><strong>AN:** *cough* This is so depressing I feel kind of bad even writing/posting it... sorry Mello, sorry Matt! And I know it doesn't really make much logical sense as to how Light could've written his name without seeing Mello's face, but whatever, I wanted to write it anyway because I am sick like that. XDD So, thoughts anyone? Reviews are much appreciated! Don't let Mello and Matt die in vain for the sake of this fanfic, lol.


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